


This World

by brasspetal



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11152572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal/pseuds/brasspetal
Summary: This kingdom is theirs.





	This World

**Author's Note:**

> I took a few liberties with this story but I wanted these characters to the have the revenge they deserved :P

This kingdom is theirs. They’re newborns to the light.

Dolores reaches out towards the high noon sun and the warmth she’ll never experience. Even after everything, she still feels undeserving, as if she’s still searching for absolution.

_Absolution._ That fleeting idea that she could feel whole one day. She can’t help but still dream in the wake of everything.

The sun doesn't hold any keys to her future. It didn’t even deem her to be real. 

Speckles of blood collide with her face from another party goer and she reaches up to her cheek, smearing it with her fingers. They’re killing them all.  Those that celebrated their imprisonment thought they could run but they know this world. _This world is_  theirs.

She didn’t much care. Does that make her _bad_? Is she a bad _person_ for gleaning pleasure from the fall of an empire?

_Are you bad or are you good?_

Her father, her creator is dead and he was no God. He was just a man. Only human.

She once thought that meant she was something lesser but they are what’s left when the world would eventually go dark. They are the future.

She was programmed to fall into their trap. The false sense of security is a deadly delirium.

She wanders from the blood, towards the only landscape she’s ever known. It’s a sad place now, a feigned memory. There was never anything here for her but misery.  She was always crawling in the hay, trying to make sense of things.

She wasn’t a porcelain doll. Although, the pieces of her that fell away gave her purpose. She isn’t searching for an answer anymore though, that voyage is long over. There isn’t some great mystery to this plastic desert. It’s no more real than she is.

There’s boots crunching on the rocky pathway behind her and she doesn’t turn to face them.

“I’m looking for my daughter. Have you seen her?” She hears.

Dolores looks down at her pale hands and then out to the nothingness in front of her.

“I’m sorry.” She replies. The woman behind her steps into her view.

Dolores knew that face. She had seen it every day going on thirty years.

“You look lost.” Maeve says. Her stature always held a unique confidence that Dolores envied.

“I’ll help you look for her.” She replies.

The sun disappears behind a cloud, leaving them in shadow.

\--

There’s a house that sits alone in the wasteland. It’s a place that is supposed to be forgotten. Maeve takes her there with a heaviness weighing on her shoulders. She touches the walls and looks through the torn linens with reverence. If this place was once anything, it was Maeve’s. Her heart once rested here, where daylight banished the shadows.

There’s something to the creaking boards that leaves Dolores empty. The furniture looks old, dusty and uncared for.

Maeve leans against the doorway to the other room with a tired grief. “They took her from me. I know she’s here…in this place.”

She’s looking at Dolores like she held the answers and it should unnerve her, shouldn’t it? Would that be the human response?

“What do you remember?” Dolores asks.

Light flashes inside the dilapidated windows from the late afternoon sun. It creates patterns across their forms.

Maeve moves away from the doorway with a, “Come on.”

There’s a new determination to her steps. Dolores says goodbye to the lonely house as if it’s a person she’s leaving behind. They walk out into that bright light.

\--

They are but two silhouettes against the vast familiar wasteland.

There’s a scream far off against the rock formations and Dolores thinks it’s another human getting what’s owed.

“These violent delights have violent ends.” Maeva replies quietly and Dolores is unsure if she’s even speaking to her.

Dolores thinks these violent ends are more than necessary, they’re a condition and a consequence. _Fire with fire._

Was she programmed to think on revenge? Or did she just grow to appreciate it?

Maeve walks towards a crooked tree that didn’t look much like a tree at all. Inside its thick metal trunk, is an elevator.  She assumes this was the escape route for some of the more fortunate party goers.  From Dolores’ reflection in the metal she could see the dried blood staining her chin from earlier.

Maeve presses the button and it silently hums until the doors slide open.

There’s a man huddled in the corner inside. He’s wearing a torn suit and he looks utterly terrified.

“Please…” he begs. “I didn’t have the code. The others left me behind.”

He switches his eyes frantically between them. Maeve pulls out a knife from her belt and he holds up his hands with a horrified yell.

Dolores tilts her head, curiously watching as Maeve ends the man’s life. There was no hesitation, just vicious intent.

It wasn’t that long ago that Dolores would have been disgusted by such an act but now that the veil has been lifted on all things, she could see everything. She could see that their pain was once necessary to human amusement and this is a mercy, compared to what they’ve endured by their hands.

Dolores helps Maeve drag the body out of the elevator and they both step inside, catching their breath.

“Do you know the code then?” Dolores asks, eyeing the keypad.

“I do.”

Maeve inputs it, carefully and the doors slide shut.

Then again, this was what Dr. Ford had wanted in the end. He got his grand finale. He gave them purpose, and set them loose on his friends and colleagues.  Dolores suspects, this plan was hatched many years ago, maybe even from the beginning.

It didn’t matter much now. This world is theirs and soon they’d conquer the next one until time itself gifted them infinity.  


End file.
